Behemoth Drabbles
by nagato chinatsu
Summary: I saved these up for when everyone else got Behemoth, I hate spoiler fics. So if yo haven't read it yet, beware.
1. Chapter 1

Alek eagerly slitted open Lilit's letter, while fending off Dylan's violent attempts to read over his wanted news about Istanbul, tidings from her family, and, of course, things to tease Dylan about.

Dear Alek, I hope you are well.

"Let me see! Let me see!"

"Shove off!"

"_You_ shove off!"

"It's _my_ letter!" He held it at arm's length, so Dylan couldn't take the fragile paper.

_Is your friend's German good enough to read this? If it is, tell him not to read other people's mail. This letter is actually about Mister Sharp, so don't let it be seen__**.**_

Alek glanced behind him. Dylan was still struggling to read the letter, but he shook his head.

"Why has my Clanker gone to pieces?"

_I have some questions, which are in no way meant to lead you to any conclusions. Has Dylan ever changed clothes in front of you or another person? Has his voice ever spontaneously changed, and not in a typical way? Has he gotten flustered when you mention a secret? Have you asked Volger yet, or guessed? My, you really are a genius, absolutely brilliant._

_Yours truly, Lilit._

Alek looked at the letter, then at Dylan. Paper, Dylan. Paper, Dylan. He reread the letter.

_Dummkopf,_ he cursed himself.

"What did she say, huh? What's wrong?"

"_Mister_ Sharp?" Alek asked, dumbstruck.

Dylan looked nervously at him. "What? Did she write about me?"

Bovril cackled.


	2. Chapter 2

Own Nuthin'

Alek POV

Alek paused outside the door of the hotel room. Lilit and Dylan were the only ones in there. Should he give them some time alone? Perphaps they were kissing! Ha! He ought to wait for a convienient moment.

"_How dare you!_" He heard Lilit scream. This did not sound good, not at all.

"It's true! You have your sneaky little paws all over him, and you know it!" Dylan bellowed.

"Well, at least I'm not ashamed of my _gender!_"

"I'm not ashamed! _I don't have a barking choice_!"

"Oh, a _martyr_ now, are we?" The girl shrieked.

"Shut your ugly mouth!" Oh dear.

"_I will not! _At least I look better as a woman than a man!"

"Stop being so desperate! You're an embarrasment to your species!"

_"_I see! I get it now!" Lilit cried with delight. "You think _he loves you!_" she laughed manically. "You actually think _he would ever love you!"_

Wait, _what_? What on earth were they talking about?

There was an indignant little scream and a loud smacking noise.

"I'll tell him! Just you wait, you little liar! How dare you hit me!"

"He'll never believe a Monkey Luddite like you!"

"_Oh, really? Really?_" She laughed again. It was a chilling sound.

Dylan called Lilit several choice words. There was another loud smacking noise.

"You Darwinist-" There was a nasty _thud_, and two girlish screams of frustration.

"Let me _go!"'_

_"_You barking twisted-"

There were various shrieks of pain.

This had gone on long enough. Alek burst in, and was promptly amazed.

Dylan had pinned Lilit to the floor by her shoulders, while Lilit squirmed and kicked.

"Dylan! What's going on!" He pried the two apart. "Lilit, are you alright? What happened?"

She smirked. "Ask Mister Sharp."

"Alright. Dylan, what's gotten into you?"

Dylan stared at his boots. "Nothing." All the fight went out of him.

"Go on, keep lying to the only person who trusts you!" Lilit spat.

"I'm not lying." Dylan mumbled.

"Yes you are!"

"No!"

"Alek! Alek, I must tell you, Dylan's-"

"Don't!" Dylan yelled. "Don't listen, Alek! Please-"

"You tackled a _girl!_ You violated a young woman's honor! Why would you attack Lilit?"

Lilit rolled her eyes and muttered in German, "At least Dylan couldn't have raped me."

"Explain from the beginning. Ladies first." Alek sighed.

The pretty girl laughed derisively. "Be specific."

Dylan quietly began to cry, shoulders shaking.

"Alek, she's lying!"

"Oh, I'm the liar here?"

Before Alek had time to react, Dylan wrestled out of his grip and pelted to the door.

"I tried to tell you!" And then he was gone, running like the wind.

"Lilit," Alek started steadily," What happened?"

"We got in a fight, because Dylan is a jealous Darwinist son of a gun."

"Jealous? Who's he jealous of? Some other young man?"

"You could say that."

"Who?"

"You."

"What? I even told Dylan that you two could be together, that I don't want to court you. Um, no offense."

Lilit stared in the direction Dylan had ran.

"You know, just go talk to Nene."

She too ran out, looking worried.

He kneeled beside Nene's bed, feeling rather stupid.

"What have you come to ask, child?"

"It's about Dylan." He explained the strange scenario he overheard.

The wizened face tensed.

"Oh dear. I knew you would catch on sooner or later."

"Can you tell me why he might be angry with Lilit?" The matriarch fixed him with a gaze of steel.

"Will you promise me something?" Alek opened his mouth to speak, but Nene cut him off with a wave of a wrinkled hand.

"Would you still be friends with Dylan no matter what I tell you? Even if it was a tremendous secret? Even if you feel angry or betrayed? Because your friend had no choice."

"Yes. I owe him my life a million times over by now."

"I will not tell you."

His face fell a fraction.

"But I can help you. Tell me what you know about Dylan, suspicious things."

"A-alright. He's being blackmailed by Volger. Something about a 'little secret,' which he apparently figured out based on posture, his expression, and his defense of me."

"Keep going."

"Let me think... He got very upset when I mentioned that women can be rather mad sometimes."

Nene grinned. "I suppose we can be."

"And I've never seen him change, but I think he's one of those people who's touchy about privacy."

"What about his clothes?"

"I guess they're normal. They've always seemed sort of large on him. He's quite skinny."

"What does your creature say about him? I've heard it's quite..."

"Perspicacious?"

"Yes."

"Bovril calls him Mister Sharp. Only he says it funny, like _Mister_ Sharp. He heard it from Volger."

"The one who's blackmailing him."

"Yes. But I don't understand what this means."

"Think, child. What have we learned?"

"Volger found a tremendous secret about Dylan, enough to force him into treason. He found this from the way he stands. He defends women. He refuses to let anyone see him without clothes. He's very slender. Finding out might make me feel betrayed, but Dylan had no choice. He is jealous of me and got into a fight with Lilit. "

"And Bovril?"

"He says 'mister' in a sarcastic way that he picked up from Volger."

"So this secret is?"

For a few minutes, he stared at the patterns in the carpet. Mister Sharp. _Mister_ Sharp.

His eyes widened in shock. This had to be a dream. Elephants all the way down.

"Dylan is a girl!"

Nene looked pleased.

"Where is he, I mean, she?"

"Currently, upstairs. Sobbing her heart out, with her head on my granddaughter's shoulder."

"_Lilit?_ But they just-"

"Women can be quite mad sometimes. Was she jealous of _you?_"

"That's what Lilit said."

"Oh, go upstairs. Bring tea." She gestured to a tray with two ceramic teacups on it. If anyone had the gift of foresight, it was Nene.

He knocked gently on the door.

"Papa?" Lilit asked.

"No, Alek." He heard a frantic noise, and a low hum, the kind Lilit used with Bovril. "Er, I have tea..."

Lilit opened the door a crack, and gently took the tray.

"Wait out here." He nodded, and sat against the wall.

He heard snatches of a conversation.

"It's just so-! I mean, I never thought-!"

"I know, I know."

"I guess..." Dylan trailed off.

"Shh."

"Will he hate me?"

"No, no. It's alright."

"I just had this fantasy that it would all click into place."

"Maybe it will."

There was a long silence.

"I'm a soldier."

"Yes."

"I am still the same person."

"Of course you are."

Another horrible pause.

"Can I have some tea?" Dylan said softly.

"Go ahead, Deryn." Well, that was a delvelopment. Deryn sipped her tea noisily, and sighed.

"Just come in, you Clanker sod," Deryn said loudly. Alek walked in and stood awkwardly. Lilit motioned him to sit at a writing desk, while she and Deryn sat on Lilit's bed.

Deryn's familiar face was stonily calm. She pushed Lilit's unresisting arm off of her shoulders and sniffled, straightening her back.

"I'm still me, you know."

"I know."

"I guess when you get the chance, you'll run a mile."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, we're not in love or anything. I promise that you will always be my good friend."

Behind Deryn's back, Lilit was mouthing frantically in German. Alek couldn't lipread well, but he thought he saw _dummkopf_ more than once.

Deryn looked the same way she had when she dashed out of the hotel room. Cautiously, Lilit placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Maybe you should leave again."

"Maybe you should."

"May I come back for walker practice?"

Lilit stealthily nodded.

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	3. Chapter 3

Alek was looking for a church in Glasgow. It was the anniversary of his parents' death, and he wanted to light candles. He soon found a gloomy old building, "Our Eternal Lady of Glasgow, est. 1791." A young woman was sweeping snow off the steps while a little girl who must be her daughter sat sullenly by a display of candles, holding a collecting tin in her lap. She looked like she was itching to play in the snow, but she was making paper flowers out of colorful bits of paper. Some kind of canine beastie was tied to the railing.

"Sir, want to buy a candle for rememberance?" the girl intoned in a learned-by-heart voice. She was Irish, or maybe Scottish. "All proceeds go to Our Lady of Glasgow."

"Two, thank you."

"Ha'penny." She handed him the candles.

He gave her the coin and headed up the steps.

"Who d'you know who died?" she said, her face curious. Her mother whirled around. Angry scars disfigured her once-pretty face, and her blue eyes were fogged and sightless.

"Abby!" she said, scandalized. "Don't ask someone that!"

"Why not?" The child muttered to Alek in a conspiratorial tone, so he had to bend down to hear her, "My grandda and grandmam died on this day. Also, I think my mam killed my da, but I'm not supposed to know that." Abby giggled. "But I think that's good." What a morbid little girl. She must be about nine.

"It's good?"

"Uh-huh. He never met me, he didn't know I'm real. So maybe he thought I was pretend? But Mam says he was a good man."

"Then why would she kill him?"

"Because! Because! He was missing! She told me he was captured by Clankers. But I think she killed him." Alek nodded warily and tried to pull open the door of the church.

"Locked." said the mother. "We open up at half past seven." She looked very young, around his age. Who was this woman? Obviously not a nun, if she had a child. "D.S. Barlow, caretaker," she said, extending a hand in his direction. It was calloused, like a man's.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, whipping off his hat. "I knew a woman of the same name," Alek continued.

"Mam was scared the Clankers would get me," Abby said in a stage whisper. "So she changed it from-"

"This is my daughter," Miss Barlow said, hastily cutting her daughter off. "Introduce yourself, _prinzessin._" The girl frowned at the German pet name, but complied.

Curtseying, she said, "Abigail J. Barlow, pleased to meet you." Alek bowed solemnly. She leaned in and whispered something to her mother, who nodded and gave him a clumsily made paper flower. Alek carefully tucked it in his pocket while Abby and Miss Barlow beamed.

"Please, have some tea. We have half an hour," the woman said. She deftly climbed the icy stairs, using her broom as a probe. Alek stuttered his thanks as she produced a key from one of her many pockets.

"Is this the right one? Can you put in in the keyhole for me, love?"

"Yes, Mam!"

She opened the door while Abby darted impatiently underfoot, tripping over her mother, who consequently tripped over her.

Inside the church, it was quiet, illuminated by the dim glow of bioluminescent lanterns. There were many candles and a charming excess of paper flowers. Miss Barlow carefully arranged the paper flowers at the feet of the statue of Mary, feeling for a poppy to place in her wooden hand. Her daughter ran down the aisles, through a little door, and up a narrow staircase, hollering, "I'm a cheetahesque! I'm a cheetahesque!"

"Don't break the mugs again!" her mother called. There was instantly a tinkling crash and a scream. Miss Barlow swore and tore up the staircase, yelling, "I'll get the peroxide!"

Alek seized the brief silence to light his candles, muttering a prayer. By the time he was finished, little Abigail and her mother had sat down on one of the pews. Miss Barlow held a tray that was laden with steaming mugs.

"I didn't cry," Abby whispered. "I was very brave, like when I punched that Stevens boy for calling Mam a cripple." Her mother nodded calmly, inhaling the floral aroma of the tea. "Mam, do we have any sugar?"

"We're running low, but you and our guest can have some." The little girl carefully stirred a spoonful in, spilling a good half of the tea, then passed it to Alek. She then made herself a cup.

"I shall have a tea party, like a real _prinzessin._" She sat on the floor in front of the statue, offering it an imaginary teacup. "Yes, Our Lady, I am fine, thank you. Would you like some tea biscuits? Oh, yes, yes, the politics, life threads and the veterans, very interesting indeed. You know, my father was King of the Fairies? Yes, I am the fairy princess. Thank you for noticing."

"King of the fairies, eh?." Miss Barlow muttered. "At least she knows her science. Her da was always providence this and destiny that, may he rest in peace."

"Pardon me for asking, but what happened to your husband?"

"Missing, presumed dead. Not my husband- we never married. Why, we were very young. I was only a teenager when Abby was born. She got his lovely eyes, the nuns tell me. Green."

"I'm so sorry."

She changed the subject hastily. "You don't sound English."

"You're right. I'm Austrian. Speaking of Austrian, why do you call your daughter a German name?"

"It's a long story."

"Hmm." For a while, they listened as Abby chattered, now debating the ethics of fabrication.

"So what brings you to Scotland? Business?"

"Well, partly. I'm a mechanik, and I was sent to buy engines. Also, my sweetheart lived here, but she was in electrikal accident. I've been trying to find her grave."

"There are a lot of people in Glasglow, but I can try and get the word out. What was her name?"

"Deryn Sharp."

The mug fell out of her hands with a crash, cutting her arms. Miss Barlow appeared to not have noticed.

"I'll get the peroxide!" Abby called, pausing her tea party with Mary, whose painted eyes gazed wistfully.

"Alek...?"

What mad providence was this?

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In case you didn't get it, Alek and Deryn were in an accident, and they both thought the other was dead. Alek was captured by Germans, which I don't mention. When they find out he's no longer heir, they release him in exchange for political prisoners. Meanwhile, Deryn thinks Abigail is next in line, so she changes their names. And yes, the "J" in Abigail J. Barlow stands for Jaspert.


	4. Chapter 4

Deryn carefully locked the door of Lilit's room behind her. She was supposed to be with Zaven, but that daft revolutionary was probably too excited to remember that. In fact, she could already hear him hammering at his typewriter, muttering about democracy and the will of the masses, with the occasional "Pah!". Deryn just wanted to see something, and it wasn't out of insecurity. Mostly. She remembered the little window in Lilit's room, barely visible from the outside. Keeping low, she peered carefully out. They were speaking Clanker, of course. Alek was laughing about something, and Lilit had an insufferable little smirk on her face. The pretty girl looked smug as a box of cats. Deryn could only understand bits of the German. She heard "your friend," "in love," "beautiful," "I said," "Dylan said," and "funny." Oh, so this is how it was? They were teasing Dylan. And then, the unspeakable horror- Lilit gave a little toss of her head, and lowered her thick black eyelashes. And Alek, that ninny, blushed! He blushed like Jaspert when Deryn caught him kissing his girl! She was not going to stand for this. And then, the little fox started to reach for his hand! Of course, the gentleman took it! Deryn stuck her head out the window.

"Oi, Alek! Hands off!" Well, that was stupid. Now Alek will be mad, and Lilit will be embarassed. At least he'll stay away from that daft anarchist lassie.

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Alek was unsucessfully trying to go over the details in his plan. He and Dylan were walking through the crowded bazaar, and it was hard to make oneself heard over the haggling of the people and the songs of the street performers.

"And then we'll turn left at the corner of- oh, I wish they'd stop already!" For a tall, bony girl with a mandolin had started up some English folk song. Dylan looked oddly nervous, as if embarassed by the lyrics. As they passed, Dylan tossed a small coin into the sun hat at her feet. She nodded in apreciation, "A dank!" and winked.

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"As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed,

A sudden strange fancy came into her head.

"Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove,

I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love."

So early next morning she softly arose,

And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes.

She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown,

And went for a soldier to fair London Town."

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Oh, and the street performer was a blatant author avatar. Although no one in my family has spoken Yiddish for generations. If I did, my grandma would probably say, "What the hell are you talking about?" These days, it just extends to swearing and calling each other shikses.


	5. Chapter 5

own nothing

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Eva had heard stories of luggage getting lost, sent to the wrong boat or train, and she had a feeling that it could happen to people, too. She glanced at the photo she was clutching. Brownish hair, green eyes. In other words, he could be absolutely anyone out of the hundreds in the train station. She would be lost like a parcel, her face covered in stamps and labels. Suddenly desperate for security, Eva looked around for her friends, but they had all been taken, for their own good. All she ever heard now was how lucky she was. How was she lucky to be sent away to England?

To keep herself busy, the short twelve-year-old began to methodically shred the star she had forgotten to remove from her jacket. It repulsed her, and it fell to the grubby snow in bits of confetti. It would be prudent to check again for the man, so she looked up and immediately noticed him, after seeing his photograph so many times. He was not as young or as handsome as her father. She pushed her way through the crowd, her carpetbag banging against her shins. He did not see her, so she tapped his elbow.

"I am the girl Eva Levine. You are Mister Ferdinand, I am thinking?" she stammered in English. The phrasebook had made it seem so easy. He smiled and took her bag, then responded in perfect German.

"That's me. How was your journey, Eva?" She was relieved that he pronounced her name the German way, "Eh-fa." The only thing she hated more than being called lucky was being called "Ee-vah."

"Nice, I suppose. I didn't like the animals on the ferry, they scared me."

"Well, then you won't like our pet, I'm afraid."

"What is it?"

"He's a _perspicacious loris._"

"I have no idea what that means."

"Neither do I, really, but my wife says it's just a clever monkey." They got in the queue for the bus. To Eva's horror, it was pulled by some kind of terrifying cat, like a giant tiger. Maybe she could hide behind the bus? Mr. Ferdinand noticed her expression and put a hand on her shoulder; she fought the urge to shrug it off.

"I promise it won't hurt you. The beasties take a while to get used to, but they can be fascinating." The girl had never felt less fascinated in her life.

"Are we going to London?" London was the only English city she had heard of. They got on the bus and sat towards the back, making room for the other passengers. Mr. Ferdinand stared at her.

"Eva, we're in Glasgow, Scotland. My wife and I live in the outskirts of the city." Eva blushed, and watched out the window for a long time. Finally, Mr. Ferdinand stood up, offering her a hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. "This is our stop." She followed him into the sunshine, meticulously avoiding the snow piled by the road.

After several blocks, he stopped in front of a tidy little house. He rang the bell, and there were two yells of assent from within. Inside, it was wonderfully warm, and something smelled nice. Mr. Ferdinand put down the carpet bag, and led her into the kitchen. A middle-aged woman with cropped blond hair and a kind face was sitting at the table, bickering with an old woman in English. At the sight of Eva and her husband, she stopped and stood up to greet them.

"Hello, Alek! And welcome, Eva!" Mrs. Ferdinand said in broken German. Eva nodded politely.

"Thank you for hosting me, Mr. and Mrs. Ferdinand. And it is a pleasure to meet your mother. Oma Ferdinand, I am Eva Levine." At this, Mrs. Ferdinand cackled triumphantly and the elderly woman whirled around.

"Please excuse that childish woman. I am Doctor Nora Barlow." Her German was very good.

"I'm very sorry."

"It's quite alright." said Dr. Barlow graciously. Just then, some kind of horrible monkey vaulted into the room, landing on Eva's shoulder.

"Welcome, Eva!" it said. Eva screamed, and it jumped to Dr. Barlow.

"W-what _is_ that thing?"

"Bovril," said the doctor, wrinkling her nose at the name. She began to slice carrots.

"Er, may I help cook something?" Eva wanted to make herself useful.

"Go ahead. I take it you know how to make vegetable soup?"

"No, but I can cut the vegetables." She and Dr. Barlow set to it, and soon, the soup was simmering. At the table, Mrs. Ferdinand had put out candlesticks, saying something in English to the doctor, who translated.

"She wants to know if you want to do any Sabbath prayers." Eva shakily lit the candles, dropping the match in the sink. She cleared her throat as everyone watched her expectantly.

"Baruch ata..." she began. "Um, baruch ata Adonai..." Hot, prickly shame welled up inside of her. She had forgotten the blessing. "Baruch... I don't know it," she whispered, "I don't know." Tears stung her eyes.

"Do not worry about it," said Mrs. Ferdinand in German, "That is fine. Do not worry." The woman gently blew out the candles.


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own anything... If I did, there would be moar kimonos.

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The Leviathan was freezing cold, but everyone seemed vaguely cheerful. Much headway had been made, and Christmas was approaching. The food was better, and some plucky airman had crookedly hung holly garlands throughout the mess hall. The Red Cross had supplied its traditionally mismatched care packages, containing things such as soap, playing cards, and toffee. Deryn, Newkirk, and Alek were playing Old Maid during a rare break.

"And now Newkirk picks from you," Deryn explained impatiently to Alek. This was getting barking annoying.

"I know, I know." Alek picked one of the two proffered cards, and Newkirk groaned.

"You win."

"Really?"

"Well, Newkirk did get stuck as the Old Maid." The middy showed him the card. The three of them sat there for a while, pondering Alek's unforseen success.

"Just wondering, has anyone ever been in a Christmas pantomime?" Newkirk asked, breaking the silence.

"Aye, twice," Deryn said grimly, "And don't you dare try to set one up." Alek looked at her confusedly. "It's traditional to do a play at Christmas, and it's traditional for them to be awful. I was a shepherd when I was six and a wise man when I was nine. After that, I stopped letting myself be persuaded into them."

"I asked the officers, and they seemed rather keen for it. They said we could," Newkirk smirked and Deryn groaned.

"Absolutely not."

"_I_ don't have to be in it, since I'm a prisoner of war, correct?"

"Everyone has to have some kind of play-related job."

"Right. I'l be a stagehand."

"We don't have a stage, ninny."

"Ex-_actly_. Have you picked a play?"

"_Twelfth Night._ Stupid boffin picked it."

"Your fault for suggesting it." Deryn retorted. Alek had an expression of interest.

"You two do know there are _girls_ in that play?" He asked politely.

"Our dearest doctoress refuses to act, so the three girls will be the shortest airmen."

Deryn could see Alek scanning the room, desperately looking for someone taller than them. Newkirk voiced the thought they were all thinking.

"Meaning the three of us."

"No."

"No."

"I'm with you two, but it's the spirit of Christmas!"

"And we all know how Jesus was born so you could cross-dress."

"_Dylan!_" said Alek, shocked.

"It can't be a swear word if the preacher says it!"

"Fine, fine. Luckily, one 'girl' will be dressed as a boy most of the time."

A pause.

"Claimed!" the trio yelled in unison. After drawing straws, it was decided that Deryn would play Olivia, Newkirk would play Maria, and Alek would play Viola. The cast would read from scripts, as the play was too long to memorize.

Alek shuddered.

"You would look terrible as a girl, Dylan,"

Deryn scowled as Alek browsed through the script.

"I hate my character."

"Stop whining, nancy."

"All the trouble in the story is caused by her disguise! That, and her twin brother showing up."

Deryn's face fell a fraction.

"At least my brother isn't identical," she muttered.

"What?"

"I think that your character is mental, I said."


	7. Chapter 7

.Literally NO historical sense here, all of this is made up, ALL OF IT. I actually considered making her Genovian or Esperanto or something. So, no Russians get all mad.

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She was lovely, he mused. The way Ekaterina flitted about the ballroom, introducing them to others, always graceful and poised. Her English and German were almost perfect, with a charming accent. Not only was his fiance polite, shy, and beautiful, but the politics involved were perfect as well. What better sign of friendship between Austria and Russia than to have the emperor engaged to the csarina? For a month now, they had been engaged, and while it was no fiery romance, the situation was about the best Aleksander could hope for. She joked about how she would be proud to add yet another surname to the list- Ekaterina Lyubochka Dmitri Gennadiya _Ferdinand_.

It wasn't love, but it could be some day. They were compatible, they liked each other, and that was enough.

Kat grabbed his elbow and steered him towards the waltzing couples, her gown rustling.

"I take it you want to dance?" he asked sarcastically. She smiled embarassedly and curtseyed, extending a slender gloved hand. He bowed and took it. For a while they danced, then decided to take a walk in the garden.

The music filtered softly through the windows, and a fountain trickled quietly. Kat began to fiddle with her lacy fan, a sure sign of nerves.

"What's the matter, Ekaterina?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm being very silly. I was just wondering, why do you never talk about the time you spent as a prisoner of war?" They sat on an ornate wooden bench.

"I had a friend then, like a brother to me. But he's dead to me now. I don't like thinking about him."

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to pry." Her blue eyes widened, and loose tendrils of dark hair blew around her face.

"No, you musn't apologize. It was no fault of yours. There was just- a tremendous sort of betrayal. He lied to me about his very nature."

The Russian teenager nodded, and in a brave attempt at anger, said, "Well, you were quite right to cut him loose, then!"

Aleksander sighed, taking her small hand.

"Yes, quite right."

The next day, they went to a public park. The couple had been talking about the weather, books they had read, and other pleasant topics of conversation when a crowd down the path grabbed their attention.

"Do you think it's a protest of some kind?" Kat asked fearfully. Alek squinted in the direction of the group.

"Well, they're all women," he remarked. One rebellious teenager had some kind of voice amplifying beastie, and she began hollering about voting rights. He heard some kind of chant, accompanied by clapping. Ekaterina looked torn, as if wanting to support her gender, but not wanting to yell loudly. They began to march down the lane, tailed by a brave reporter. The sufferagettes ignored him, chanting, "Repeal the Cat and Mouse Act!" One woman, however, grinned widely at the camera, posing with her picket sign. Alek resisted the urge to laugh- she was wearing bloomers.

His fiance smiled shyly. "I should like to support them, were they not so violent."

"Oh, Kat, they're terrorists. You musn't think like that."

"And who are you to tell me how I must think?"

The woman with the bloomers cheered, "You tell him, lass!" as she passed them.

Kat blushed bright red.


	8. Chapter 8

.I own nothing.

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"Oh, don't be ridiculous, you're in no state to go to work!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" his fiance protested.

"No, you're not. Deryn, there's an epidemic! And you're sick!" It was true- her cheeks were flushed and her eyes looked glassy.

"Alek, you're going to make me late. I'm just tired, got it?" She finished buttoning her coat and made for the door, but he blocked her path. "Oh, _come on!_ My boss-"

"I'll call your boss." Alek felt Deryn's forehead, and it was warm to the touch. "You're feverish, go to bed."

Deryn let out a groan of frustration and pulled off her coat and boots. As he put on the water for tea, Alek could hear her banging around in their room, looking for a nightgown and muttering about deadlines.

He read the newspaper for a while, and was halfway done with the crossword when the tea kettle shrieked.

"I'll get it!"

"You stay there!" Alek had never gotten sick much as a child, so his medical knowledge was mainly based off of common sense and guessing. He was rather terrified, as cholera was sweeping the city.

After making Deryn's tea (no sugar, a little milk) he called her employer, who was quite understanding and sympathetic. Alek brought the tea to their room.

Deryn was in bed, sullenly knitting what was either a sock, mitten, or scarf. She had never quite gotten past a beginner's level, but one had to admire her work ethic, hammered into her by her mother.

"Tea?"

"Yes, thanks." For a while, they sat there in silence.

"Do we have any medicine?"

"Oh, I don't need any of that disgusting stuff."

"Do you want anything to eat? I can make toast and toast."

"Nah, not hungry. You ought to get to work now."

"I guess so. Get the neighbors if you need anything, or call the office."

"I will. Bye, love."

"Er, bye," Alek had never been one for terms of endearment, but apparently it was a Scottish thing. If you eliminated the terms "love," "dearie," and "sweetheart" from his soon-to-be mother-in-law's vocabulary, she would probably be almost speechless.

When he came back from work, Alek fixed himself some excuse for a sandwich, and was startled to see Dr. Barlow sitting at the kitchen table.

"I let myself in," she said simply. Her face was pale and tired, and she looked as though she was about to cry.

"That's fine, you're always welcome here. Thank you for watching Deryn."

"It's nothing." She stood up, smoothing her black skirt.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"No, I think I should head back now." She got her coat and left. Alek knew what weighed so heavily on her heart. Two weeks ago, her four year old son had died of the illness, and she had almost lost her will to survive. He remembered Thomas's funeral, the only time he had ever seen Doctor Barlow seem vulnerable and desolate. Deryn had been all out of sorts, alternating between weeping and stoniness.

He went to check on Deryn. She was asleep, and despite her past denials, had a very feminine-looking bridal magazine on her lap. Her face had a bit more vigor in it, and her sleep was peaceful. Thank heaven, it wasn't the dreaded illness.

"Hello, love," he whispered.

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"Are you angry?"

"Am I angry?" Alek repeats hollowly. "Of course I'm angry! You lied- about everything! _Everything!"_

The person looked at her feet. God's wounds, he didn't even know her infernal name.

"This...this..._trickery!_ It's unnatural, repulsive! I don't think you're fully a girl or a boy! You're some...some..._abomination!_"

The girl looked at him with fire in her eyes, but said nothing. The horrible, unnerving truth dawned on him.

"You _loved_ me." Her silent tears were answer enough.

"You actually _loved_ me. What, did you think we could form a brotherly bond that would _blossom_ into love, the daring adventuress and her _prince?_" Alek is mocking her now. It feels wickedly good.

"I...I..."

"You betrayed me."

"Well then, what would you have done? Eh? Stayed home, and drowned in misery?"

"A woman's place is in the-"

She began wildly kicking at him.

"I've heard that too many times, you sod!"

"Maybe you should have listened!"

She cursed him creatively.

"I can't believe I ever considered you a friend, you excuse for a woman!"

The girl kicked one last time, and her foot found its target. Alek doubled over, swearing, and she taunted him.

"Excuse for a woman, eh? I'm more of a man than you ever were."


	9. Chapter 9

Megan and Jaspert were watching the stars on the rooftop, sitting on a blanket, when he said it. He didn't mean to; it sort of slipped out.

"We could get married, you know."

"What?"

"Get married. When my contract with the Service is up, we could move to our own little flat." Megan arched an eyebrow.

"Is this some terrible attempt at a marriage proposal?" She tried to sound sarcastic, but her eyes glowed.

He turned to face her, taking her hands earnestly. Her hair blew about her face, like a firey halo.

"Damn it, I think it is."

"Yes, then."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Great." A grin spread across his face.

She fiercely mopped at her eyes with her sleeve.

"I have money, from sewing."

"And my contract is up in two years."

Quite suddenly, they were in each other's arms, laughing shakily. Jaspert gently kissed her forehead.

They decided to tell Deryn first.

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Dylan quickly read the letter his cousin had sent him, his smile growing more and more pronounced. Finally, Alek asked.

"What is it?"

"Read it." He handed him the letter.

_Dear D,_

_ How are you? How is everything working out? Well, I suppose- the Leviathan's all the news at home. _

_Here is the reason I'm writing to you- I'm engaged to Meg! You remember her, don't you? I should hope so._

_We've decided we want children. First one is Deryn or Brandon._

_Yours, Jaspert_

"Oh, that's nice."

"And they want to name the daughter after m- my cousin! Jaspert's sister. Deryn is my cousin."

"You don't talk much about her."

"No? I was always closer to Jaspert, you see."

"Because she's a girl?"

"Aye, me and Jaspert, you know, as we're both boys and all that."

"What's she like?"

"Our age," she said. "And strikingly beautiful."


	10. Chapter 10

I just have some questions for you lovely folks:

Which ones do you want (or not want) a follow-up to?

What should I improve?

Any plotholes you found?

Any requests?

Any characters you feel I depicted weirdly?

Which one was your favorite?

Any inconsistencies?

Thank you so much for your input!

I keep having this weird daydream where Deryn and Alek time-travel and end up staying with me. And I'm engaged to my middle school crush. I have to explain World War Two, Madonna, subways, the Beatles, feminism, and all that stuff. I actually sometimes stop and think, how would I explain Pokemon to Alek?

"It's like, monsters, and the ten year old, and he yells, 'I challenge you!'"

"Wait, what? Are they fabricated animals?"

"Well, I dunno. There's this guy Professor Oak, but I think he just raises them..."

"Umm..."


	11. Chapter 11

I decided to do a follow up about Eva. I'll probably go back and do more, thanks to everyone who voted. And to those who did not vote, I like you anyway for listening to my ramblings.

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Her mother still wrote letters. Even when they took Eva's father on the truck, she still wrote to her daughter, every month. For this small gesture, Eva was endlessly grateful, and she hung up every one on her wall. Soon, they began to come from Warsaw, and then they stopped coming.

Eva determinedly checked the mailbox, as she did every day. There was an finally a worn envelope, addressed to Eva Levine. She eagerly unfolded it, her hands shaking- and a gust of wind deposited the precious news in a tree.

There was nothing else to do- she climbed precariously, twigs snagging her jumper. Eva snatched the letter, then looked down.

Oh dear.

She swayed horribly and gripped the tree still more firmly. Mrs. Ferdinand opened the back door, holding a flower pot. She squinted into the sunlight, and saw Eva.

"How are you in the tree?"

"More importantly, how can I get down?"

The woman laughed, and began to climb deftly. When she reached her, she sat on a bough next to her.

"A letter from your mother?"

"Yes," Eva suddenly felt irrationally annoyed. This woman could never, ever replace her mother.

"She is still in the- I don't know the word."

"The ghetto," Eva said rather harshly, "She is in the ghetto. Maybe they will put her on a truck, or maybe they will just shoot her."

"I am not wanting..." Mrs. Ferdinand said. "I am not wanting to make you sad. I just wonder. And I do not think they will shoot people."

Eva laughed savagely. "I didn't think a lot of things would happen."

"Eva, I am wanting to help you. You must tell me if you want to talk." Eva could see the pity in the woman's eyes. _Don't look at me like that. My parents are alive. I shouldn't even be here. Don't _look_ at me like that!_

"Thank you for climbing up here. I think I can get down by myself."

"Yes. The doctor is here for your science lessons."

"I'll meet her when I've finished my letter."

"Goodbye then." She descended and walked back to the house.

_Dearest Eva, it's wonderful to be able to write to you. Everything is fine here. The little boys in our apartment had their birthday yesterday, which was nice. How are your friends? I love hearing about Maureen, the one who wants to be an actress. Everyone was so happy when we heard she got the role of Scarlett! Based on the photograph, I think she's a lot prettier than Vivien Leigh. Has Laura had the piano recital yet? Your letter was so funny. I read it out loud, and everyone laughed about how she fretted needlessly when you said she played so well. Poor thing! I am so glad you are making friends. You know, I am very proud of you, making new friends and learning a new language. And the creatures! Oh, I admit I would be very scared in Scotland. That geneticist lady, Doctor Barlow, must know so many fascinating things. Why animals are the way they are, and how to change them, is such monumental knowledge, maybe too much so. But maybe your old mother is just crazy. I'm - - - - with some other ladies, but the - man - - - where we're going. He gave us these postcards. You might not hear from me for - -, but you shouldn't worry. I think we're going to some kind of - that they call -. The women with me are all frail and sick, so maybe we'll be doing the lighter work. You must promise me that you won't worry about me. I love you with all my heart, Eva, I love you more than you can possibly imagine. You are smart, beautiful, funny, wise, talented, selfless, and caring. I want you to always know that. I do not think I am facing -, but if I am, I shall go to my God with a smile on my face and eternal love in my heart. For they have not won, as long as one Jew is unbroken, and they shall never break you and me. I have utter faith that you will never be broken. You must give my thanks to the Ferdinands, and tell your friends that I should like to meet them some day. Remember, you musn't worry about me. Promise._

_All of my love,_

_Sophie Hannah Levine_

Eva guessed where her mother was going. Bits and pieces had been censored, but it was clear enough. Mama was going to die.

She cried until she fell asleep, and she cried when she woke up on the ground with a broken arm. However, Eva was still unbroken in spirit, and the pain of that, the pain of love, the pain of a promise, and the pain of living were worse than any fracture.

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This chapter is dedicated to those lost in the Shoah, and the orphans of the Kindertransport.


	12. Chapter 12

Follow up for chapter 3. Own nuthin'.

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As expected, his daughter did not trust him at first.

"If you're my father, what's Grandmam's name?"

"Sophie."

"Wrong! Her name is Elfin Queen-"

"No, it's Sophie." Her mother cut her off and twined hands with him.

"Well, then why don't you have any wedding photographs?"

"Because we were never married."

"So how did you have me?" she demanded. Deryn let out a long sigh and Alek ran a hand through his hair, blushing.

"Darling, you don't have to be married to have a baby, but you have to be an adult."

"Uncle Jaspert says you were barely an adult when you had me."

"Don't listen to Uncle Jaspert."

"So, is he really my father?"

"Yes."

"Then he knows the password." Abigail said, watching him suspiciously.

"The password is..." Alek decided to take a wild guess. "The password is 'password'?"

She stared at Alek, wide eyed.

"You are my Da, then!"

And before Alek had time to collect his thoughts, she flew into his arms.


	13. Chapter 13

Own nothing. Also, everyone here is made up, I promise.

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When Alek woke up, he thought he might be hallucinating. Buildings towered hundreds of feet above him, and light was everywhere. He was in some kind of city, but none that he recognized.

"Dylan? Where do you think we are? All I remember is the bomb and then-" He stopped abruptly. Dylan was still unconscious, and he had numerous small cuts and bruises. Taking care to not move his head, he carefully picked him up.

"Please, can anyone help me?" Alek called. In his panic, he almost ran into a man.

"Whoa, whoa, what's wrong?" This was no man, he realized, despite her trousers.

"Miss, my friend is hurt."

"Yeah, I figured. Do you need me to call an ambulance?" She pulled a small, colorful box out of her pocket.

"I don't think so. He's not hurt badly." He said quickly. There was no way of knowing if the authorities were friends or foes here.

"Come on, my flat's across the street." He hurried after her into one of the buildings and up the stairs. The woman unlocked the door and helped him lay Dylan on a couch. "I have antiseptic and bandages."

As she hurried to fetch them, Alek noticed a poster on the wall: "Abbey Road, 1969" A sickening lurch went through him.

"Excuse me, miss, can you tell me what day it is?"

"Uh, November tenth?" she said, dabbing something onto Dylan's cuts.

"What year is it, though?"

"Two thousand-ten."

"What?"

"What are you, a time traveler? That would explain Indiana Jones here."

"I-I think so, actually."

"Ooh, awesome! From when?"

"Nineteen eighteen."

"Ah, great. I'll go get some clean clothes for you two."

He sat there, dumbstruck until she returned, tossing the clothes at his head.

"I'm Kayla, by the way."

"Aleksander." He bowed, causing her to giggle.

"Go get dressed." She left.

He sorted through the clothes and pulled them on, feeling dazed. Seconds after he was dressed, the door banged open. A tall, slim man stared at him, running a hand through his jet black hair.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my clothes?"

"I'm having an affair with him," called Kayla from another room.

"No, she's not!" said Alek, blushing at the thought.

"I know that. But who are you?"

"Distant cousin," said Kayla, entering, "From Germany."

"Austria."

"Yeah, whatever." She kissed the man's cheek. "Sandy, this is Jin."

"Please don't call me that."

"Anyway," she continued, "His friend was in a fight and they need to stay here for a while. Is that okay?"

"Hey, it's your place. What's with the clothes?"

"I dunno. Kids these days."

Kayla was a strange woman, but she was quick thinking. On the sofa, Dylan groaned, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Dylan! Are you alright?"

"Fine. But where-"

"My cousin's house," he said quickly. In the background, Kayla and Jin were arguing over what to cook.

"Jin is making bibim gooksu."

"Bless you," mumbled Dylan, rubbing his head.

"Wahaha! Korean noodles, then. Hey, are you okay? You have a headache?"

"No, I'll be fine," he frowned, "What are these?"

"Clothes. Yours are currently covered in blood," said Jin. "Go change. Alek can help you if it hurts your cuts."

Dylan hesitated, then whispered something in Kayla's ear. Her eyes widened and she smiled smugly.

"Okay, I'm going to get medicine." She dragged Dylan down the hallway, slamming and locking a door behind them.

Alek and Jin frowned at each other. Five minutes later, they emerged.

After they had noodles and tea, Kayla looked decisive about something.

"So, have you heard the word?"

"What?"

"I was aware that everyone had heard the word."

"Kayla, cut it out."

"Fine." She smacked the back of his head.

"Are you two married?" blurted Dylan.

"Uh, no?" Alek and Dylan both blushed deeply.

"But we have been together since Jin's romantic fire escape serenade."

"Kayla, they don't want to hear about that- argh, it's embarrassing..." he buried his face in his hands.

"Nerd."

"What do you do for a living, Mister Jin?" Alek asked politely.

"Art teacher."

Kayla laughed quietly into her coffee.

"We can't all be engineers," defended Jin.

"You're an engineer?"

"I am woman, hear me roar, mister."

Dylan was laughing, and the room blurred and the laugh turned musical and feminine. Almost like the laugh of a-

He opened his eyes. A pale Doctor Barlow and Dylan materialized above him.

"You've been unconscious for five hours," she said.


	14. Christmakwanzakah Special Part One

I do not own anything... CHRISMI-KWANZA-KAH SPECIAL PART ONE!

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"No, _seriously. _They're mad, all of them. Barking mad."

"They're your family, I'm sure they're wonderful."

"Aye, a wonderful addition to the London Zoo."

"How bad could they be?"

"Well, there's my ma, who still thinks I've spent the past year as a seamstress in London. Then my aunts, who are all positively ancient. Jaspert brings a new girl home every Christmas. The Ferguson half and the Sharp half absolutely loathe each other, so God knows why we spend Christmas together. The oldest granddaughter- me- is forced to watch the children. This means that I get blamed when things get broken. Then someone brings up my dead grandda and Grandma starts crying. We sit through a two hour service at some church. There's always a huge row about the cooking- usually involving me- that ends with my aunts ignoring each other throughout the meal. My senile great aunt thinks I'm my grandmother Lucy and asks me about my husband Alfred and the little ones, and I have to play along or she gets upset. Oh, and no one but Jaspert has seen my haircut yet. They'll all have kittens."

She smiled a little at the last part.

"I'm sure you're exaggerating. Besides, I have to meet them one day."

"On your own head be it."

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When the fateful day arrived, Alek wore a plain dress shirt and pants, because Deryn forbade any "fancy princely yakum." He could hear her muttering darkly about women's clothing from the other room. Finally, she came out in a worn skirt and blouse, looking like she had been through a war, which she technically had.

"You look...nice."

"_Don't_ start."

A crowded trolley ride later, they arrived at a dingy grey house. Deryn nervously looked around.

"Maybe we should just go. This was a bad idea."

"Deryn..."

"Really, let's run while we can."

"They're your family."

She sighed and knocked on the door. A small woman who closely resembled her opened it.

"What happened to your _hair_?"

"Nice to see you too, ma."

"But what happed? Were you attacked by a razor hawk?"

"Maaa... Stop it."

"Are you being cheeky with me?"

"Ma, I'm a grown woman."

"Oh, don't make me laugh." She noticed Alek, who had, in fact, been trying not to laugh. "Who is this?"

"I'm Aleksandar Ferdinand, Mrs. Sharp. Pleased to meet you."

"Oh... thank you. Go on in- _not you, missie." _She blocked Deryn's way, and proceeded to interrogate her.

Inside, it was loud and crowded. He only recognized Jaspert, who laughed and thumped him on the back.

"This is my lovely Polly," he said. A pretty girl with dark hair waved shyly at him.

Several little children clustered around him.

"Are you Deryn's husband?"

"No."

"Who are you?"

"Her friend, Alek."

"I'm five."

"That's nice..."

"Well _I'm_ seven!"

Soon, Deryn and Mrs. Sharp came in.

"...an absolute _disgrace_-"

"Ma, I get it!"

"...not even wearing a corset-"

"In case you haven't noticed, _no one_ wears corsets anymore!"

An extremely old woman got to her feet, with a vacant expression of joy.

"Lucy," she said, embracing Deryn, "Happy Easter!"

"It's Christmas... Mother."

"Of course it is. How is dear Alfred?"

"Um... fine. He's fine."

"And the little ones?"

"Still fine."

"They grow up so quickly, don't they?"

"Y-yes, absolutely."

Their awkward reunion was cut short by a loud crash. Across the room, a small child sat wailing among the shattered remains of a porcelain dish. Deryn swooped over, simultaneously trying to calm him down and pick up the gleaming shards.

"Deryn! You'll be a terrible mother, you know!"

"Aaargh..."

The old woman, apparently not noticing Deryn's absence, wandered to Alek.

"So, has Mary had the baby yet?"

"What? Uh, yes. Yes, she's had the baby."

"Oh, wonderful! What have you named him?"

Jaspert came to Alek's rescue.

"Jaspert. They want to have another child next." He winked, whispering to Alek, "She thinks you're my father."

"Oh... Well, goodbye." She nodded happily and began talking to a coatrack.

From the kitchen, he could hear arguing.

After a while, everyone pulled their coats on and walked down the street to the small church. Mothers yelled dire threats regarding playing with the snow. Deryn jogged to his side and whispered, "Last chance... I can pretend to have a fever and we can dash home."

"No, don't."

"You're right, too obvious. I did that last year."

"Deryn!" hollered Jaspert, "Retreat! Someone told her!" He pulled out a signal whistle and blew sharply.

Deryn paled and swore softly, grabbing Alek's hand for support.

"Wait, who? Told her what?" he asked.

Her mother marched up behind them, looking furious.

"Your Aunt Claire just told me about _a certain Dylan Sharp_ on the list of men returning form overseas.First I told myself it was a coincidence, a similar name. After all, the men were from the HMS Leviathan. Of course it couldn't be, then, I thought. Then I turn the page and what do I see? Explain yourself!"

She brandished a scrap of newspaper in their faces, showing them a small photo. It was the crew of the _Leviathan._

"Ah... a misprint?"

"Aaargh!"

"But you still love me, right?"

"That hasn't worked on me since you were eight." Mrs. Sharp twisted Deryn's ear. "Though I suppose I do. And you, boy, keep your hands off my daughter."


	15. Chapter 15

Follow up for 7. Own nothing.

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Kat politely answered the reporters' questions.

"Thank you for your congratulations."

"Yes, the ceremony will be Roman Catholic, not Russian Orthodox."

"We shall be married in Saint Stephen's."

"Yes, we will visit the queen tomorrow."

She dearly wished for the end of the relentless interviews, but strengthening ties with England was important. The questions were all trivial matters of the wedding.

Then a woman yelled, "Are you happy?"

"Pardon?"

"Are you happy to be engaged?"

"I am very happy! Prince Ferdinand is dear to me. What newspaper do you work for, madam?"

"The Glasgow Journal. Aren't you unhappy to be in an arranged marriage?"

"Next reporter, please."

"How can you bear it?"

"Other reporters are waiting. Please, only one question per publication."

"I wish you luck putting up with that dummkopf," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Tell him that Bovril is happier now. I am, too."

"Excuse me?" Kat asked, but the woman was gone.

"No, I did not know that woman."

"Yes, I plan to tour this beautiful country."

"No, I do not know what that woman was referring to."

"Thank you, that will be all." She delicately exited, and was helped into a car.

"So," asked Alek, "How was the press?"

"I met a lunatic. She said something about bovril. She seemed rather... tortured. Angry, but very sad." Kat shook her head.

"A lunatic lady journalist? Wait, bovril?"

"Yes, no idea what that was about. And she said she knew you."

"Well, I don't know who that could be." He looked away. She could tell he wasn't being totally honest with her.

"I'm not stupid."

"Of course not, Kat."

"Where do you know her from?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Obviously it does if-" She stopped at his expression.

"She's a dirty liar," he said sharply. "A harlot." Kat gasped.

"L-Literally?"

"Of course not!"

"I... I'm sorry..."

"No, I shouldn't have lost my temper. Please, forgive me." He sighed, and Kat wondered who this woman was that could cause such a reaction in her usually calm fiance.

Ekaterina was determined to find out.


	16. Chapter 16

Own nothing.

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Her coat was gone, and her valise. But she'd come back? Yes, of course she would. So she's stubborn. He didn't care; he'd wait. He will not chase after her like a fool. So she's afraid of commitment, not his fault. She's thirty six years old, and not a young woman, and yet acting like a teenager about this. He'd asked her to _marry_ him. Does that usually result in a fight? Yet she'd begun accusing him- _him!-_ of limiting her options. Alek had asked very rudely if they were in love. Well, they are, but is that any of the boy's business? No! That boy will be the death of him, running around with his foolish soldier friend. He really considers telling Alek. He looked in the shed. Her bicycle was gone. She expects to leave him on a _bicycle!_ Of all the women in the world, he proposes to the most stubborn, ignorant, obnoxious one. Which is actually why he likes her, but that is beyond the point. He glares at at the torn umbrella propped against the door. Of course she had to take their only functional umbrella. They really ought to have two, but who ever considers the necessity of an extra umbrella? It was the kind of discussion he would usually have with Nora, trivial annoyances and everyday dilemmas. Nora, who is leaving him on a _bicycle. _Of all the stupidities. He can hear Alek and that girl talking upstairs in hushed voices. One of these days he must ask her name. It obviously wasn't Dylan...

"So she left?"

"Looks like it."

"I know you don't like Volger, but you can't help but feel bad for him." Oh, young Alek _pitied_ him. This was sickening.

"Hnh."

"You really seem to loathe him. What's he threatening you about, anyway?" For once in his life, his pupil hit the nail on the head. He'd be proud if he wasn't so annoyed.

"Uh... er, you can't tell anyone. But, uh, I'm underage. I'm sixteen, not seventeen."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Well, your secret is safe with me. Do you think we should tell him she took the bicycle?"

"He can figure it out, cleverboots he is. I wonder why he's not chasing her."

"She's embarrassed him. The most important thing to Volger is his dignity."

"Even more important than love?" The girl said softly.

He ought to march up there and tell Alek about exactly who the girl loved. But that comment stung him, in its frank truth. He had come to look at Alek as a son. A stupid, irresponsible son, but a son nonetheless. And a father does not accept his son's disappointment.

He looked at the shredded umbrella and narrowed his eyes. It would have to do.


	17. Chapter 17

I really love the Beatles series of drabbles, and want to do a music series of my own. Please be so kind as to vote:

(Engine) Grease

The Bovril Horror Picture Show

Barking Spiders! (Mamma Mia!)

Other

Also, does anyone have anything they would really like to see continued or written?

Please read my buddy's Haruhi Suzumiya/Leviathan crossover. She's an incredible writer.

And I just randomly wanted to tell you several things that have no relevance whatsoever:

Alek will cry at Abby's wedding.

In my original draft, Kayla smacked Alek with a copy of _The Feminine Mystique._

When Kat was little, she wanted to run away from home and join the Russian ballet.

Lilit's mother was even more beautiful than her, and Zaven was instantly smitten.

Deryn doesn't actually work for the Glasgow Journal. She just made that up.


	18. Chapter 18

Own nothing. This is AU, and everyone is a little OOC. Ha, I used the abbreviations... I feel like I belong!

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The new British girl (Daisy? Doris?) knocked hesitantly on the emperor's bedroom door, holding a basket of clean linens, wincing at the shouting coming from within. Before Sonja had time to pull her back and tell her try again at an opportune time, the door opened.

"Who is it?" said the emperor, red with anger.

"I have clean sheets and I was wondering if-" BAM! The door slammed in her face. Taken aback, the girl turned to Sonja. "Well!"

"They were obviously arguing. Next time wait until they're out. Also, try to speak with a less atrocious accent."

"Thank you, er..." The old woman fought back a laugh. Clearly, the girl didn't know her name either.

"Sonja Baumgartner."

"Deryn Sharp, pleased to meet you."

"So where are you from? England?"

"No, Scotland."

"Oh, isn't that next to England?"

"Yes, it is like... up. Up of England."

"You mean north?"

"Yes." She repeated it to herself several times. Sonja handed her a duster and they began to dust the cabinets.

"So why are you in Austria?"

"I wanted to see the world, meet people, travel."

"So you became a maid?"

"I'm not sure how that happened." Sonja liked the girl. She had spirit, and respect for her elders. Although her German really was _awful._

"Well, the Ferdinands are a good family to work for. Actually, I was the emperor's nurse when he was a little boy. I was old then. Now I'm positively ancient!"

"Why does he fight with the empress?" she whispered.

"Personality differences."

"What?"

"He's an arrogant conservative with a temper and she's a frigid bitch."

"Oh." She giggled, and began to dust the areas where Sonja's arthritis just wouldn't let her reach. "Rumors say he's very handsome."

"Ah, don't you even think about it, little miss. One year a stupid little French beauty came to work here, tried to flirt with his highness. Fired faster than you can say, 'Empress Valentina.'"

"So she was his mistress?" asked the girl, now beating the dust out of the curtains.

"Oh Lord, no. His highness considers himself far too noble to lower himself to mistresses."

"But in the British paper, I heard there was an actress-"

"Lies. But you hear me, little miss, stay away from him. A good maid is appreciated but never seen or heard."

"Of course."

"Good girl. Now do you mind helping an old bat fold sheets?"

"Most of my childhood was helping old bats fold sheets."

"Let's get to it, then."

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Shall I continue this? Or no? I'm writing Barking Spiders!. I know BHPC was first place, but I chickened out. Sorry, I just don't think I can match the campy-ness.


	19. Barking Spiders!

Own nothing. Barking Spiders!

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Does Your Mother Know 

Lilit sighed, this was really too easy. One day Deryn would thank her for making her disguise seem more real. But in the meantime, the Scottish girl just seemed so ridiculously awkward. If she kept this up, Alek would think his friend was a homosexual. Boys are such _idiots!_ And yet they think that women are docile child machines! No, she shouldn't get angry right now. Just take her hand, and- Dammit! She pulled it away. It's much easier to manipulate people when they're male.

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Lay All Your Love On Me

Deryn knew it was wrong, but she had an urge to tear Lili's throat out. She was nice, but she's engaged to _Alek!_ And for that, she would never forgive her. _Just tell him, just tell him, just tell him..._ No, she can't. She steals a glance at the happy couple. It's awful, they're holding hands. How can he do this to her? How can he not love her, because Deryn loves him so much it _hurts?_ She can't bear it! Can't bear it at all!

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Take A Chance On Me

The count is tying a letter to the leg of a messenger pigeon. Nora takes a deep breath and gathers her courage.

"Sir, prisoners of war are not permitted correspondence. Who are you even writing to?"

Her creation giggles, and Volger glares at it. Ask him to tea. Simply as friends. Yes, that's right, friends.

"My wife." He says simply. The words hit her like a slap.

"You have- you're married?"

"Yes."

"W-well. Congratulations." She walks away, trying to look like she doesn't care the slightest, but inside she's shattering.

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Our Last Summer

Alek sits alone on the spine. The air is balmy, and he remembers his fifteenth birthday. His mother was wearing her favorite dress, blue cotton. She had put a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, darling. You're so tall, taller than your mummy. Franz, do you remember, when he was just so tiny... Oh I'm crying. I mustn't cry on your birthday." And she had embraced him like he was still a little boy. His father had clapped a hand on his shoulder, and told him that he was a man now.

Soaring over the Pacific Ocean, he could almost feel their pride. Dylan cautiously approached him and placed a hand on his arm.

"You okay? You look like you're going to cry."

"N-no. I'm f-fine."

"Don't give me that. No shame in crying."

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Slipping Through My Fingers

Mary Sharp can hear her daughter crying in her room. Oh, she's a terrible, terrible, mother. But how can Deryn say such things to her face? I hate you, I wish I was never born, Da would never let you do this to me, you don't love me like you love Jaspert. How did her little girl become so _hateful?_ Doesn't she understand, everyone she's ever loved has gone to the air and never come back? Her father, her husband, her brothers, all dead because they wanted to fly. Every day, she reads the list of names in the paper, praying with all her heart. _Please, Lord, not my son, not my son, anyone but my son._

Mary softly knocks on Deryn's door.

"Can I come in?"

"Suit yourself." Her daughter has burrowed into her comforter and her eyes are puffy and red.

"I'm really, really, sorry about what I said earlier. I'm just so scared that-"

"I'll die? You're so scared, you won't let me live!"

"H-how can you... how can y-you say such things to your mother?"

"Ma, Ma, don't cry." She says it in a tired way, no compassion in her voice. This sets her off even more.

"Oh, m-m-my little Deryn..."

"Please don't call me that." Can't she see how much she's hurting her? Can't she just embrace her, a little girl again?

Deryn starts crying, too.

"It's in my blood... I can take care of myself."

"T-that's what Thomas said..."


	20. Chapter 20

Own nothing.

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Miss Campbell, her untidy grey bun coming undone, smacked a book on the desk for quiet. The older girls shushed the younger ones, in an attempt to help the soft spoken teacher regain order. The dim schoolroom instantly hushed, and a ball of paper belatedly hit Stacy Faulkner in the back of the head.

"I am pleased to announce- Lottie, you will not speak while I am speaking- that we are going on a class trip to the Glasgow Cathedral and Necropolis."

There was an instant hubbub, and Hazel craned her neck to see Dorothy, who was waving wildly at her and mouthing, "_Partners, partners!"_ She happily nodded. Miss Campbell raised her voice and continued.

"The last time I had allowed you to pick partners, there was an absolute ruckus. I am thus forced to assign your partners. " Mass outpouring of gloom! "Listen for your name. Maggie Allen and Clara Armstrong. Gladys Atkinson and Lucille Breckenridge." Oh no, they were going alphabetically, so Hazel would be almost last. Impatiently, she tapped her foot until- "Deryn Sharp and Hazel Shaw." The two girls looked at each other, and nodded half-heartedly. Deryn was... a _nice_ person, probably very lovely once you got to know her, but Hazel was a bit scared of her. She was very tall and intimidating, as if she knew something you didn't.

"Um. Hi, Deryn. That's a bad scrape you've got there. What happened?" The girl's elbow was rough and raw.

"Fell down the stairs."

"Oh, that's awful. I'm very clumsy too. In fact, the other day, I was trying to make porridge when-"

"I'm not _clumsy,_ I just tripped."

"Oh." That sat in silence until the French lesson began, when Hazel went to sit with the older students. She had a bit of a knack for languages, and Miss Cambell had let her work with the ten year olds. They dutifully recited verbs until the lunch bell rang.

Dorothy, Alice, and Hazel sat at a desk together, unwrapping their sandwiches.

"Dorothy, who'd you get put with?"

"Ruthie Ferguson. But you! You got partnered up with Scary Sharp."

"Oh, don't call her that. I'm sure she's-"

"Perfectly nice," her friends chorused, rolling their eyes.

"But did I tell you, that one time when I asked her if she wanted to embroider with me, and-"

"You've told us this story a million times, Alice."

"A billion times."

"But it was very rude of her to laugh."

"Yes, it was, but maybe she was having a bad day or something."

"I think it's very nice that you always try and see the best in people, but _honestly,_ you're so trusting."

"Dorothy!"

"I'm just saying."

"Well, it's very rude."

"Perhaps she's having a bad day or something," giggled Alice.

"Stop it..."

"Oh, Haze, don't cry, please don't cry, I didn't mean it..."

"Yes, we're only teasing, we're really sorry."

"Alright, I forgive you. But please stop making fun of Deryn."

"Course. Maybe she's just very shy or something."

"Shy? She's the least shy person I know. Remember that time she climbed on top of that wall and just _balanced_ there, like it was nothing?"

"Yeah, she's a very brave girl. Oh, and her plait is so pretty, I don't know why she complains about it..."

After school that day, Haze; noticed Deryn smiling to herself. Perhaps their whispered gossip was louder than they thought it was.


	21. Chapter 21

Own nothing. This one is very sad, I'm warning you.

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"Dad?"

"Hey, Tommy. What is it?"

"My teacher says we have to do a report on one of our ancestors."

"When is this due?"

"Tomorrow."

"Are you _serious?_"

"No, I have a week."

"Thank God. Okay, who do you want to write about?"

"I dunno, Nana?"

"Nana Sharp or Nana Anderson?"

"Nana Sharp."

"Okay, let's get your mom in here. She was Nana's granddaughter. Lily? Lily, Tommy's working on a project. We need you to tell us about Deryn."

"Just let me finish this email... Okay, done. What do you need to know, kiddo?"

"Well, like, did she do any cool stuff?"

"Oh, yeah. She dressed as a boy and joined the Air Service."

"You never told me that!"

"Wow! Did she kill Nazis?"

"Tommy! Don't you talk about violence like that! But Nazis were in World War Two. She was WRAF for that one."

"What was World War One about, then?"

"There was this guy Archduke Ferdinand... I don't really know the details."

"Dad?"

"Um. Well, there were Germans involved. I am positive that Germans were involved somehow. So she _kind of_ killed Nazis."

"Will!"

"Sorry."

"Anyway, she was a wonderful grandmother. When I was a teenager, she tried to get me to go up in a Huxley. God, those things were deathtraps. But towards the end, she had dementia."

"What?"

"It's a disease that elderly people sometimes have. It makes them very confused, and it's very sad because sometimes people don't remember their pasts."

"Yeah, it was really bad. She kept talking about a prince, she had to stop a prince from being assassinated. And we'd tell her that their wasn't any prince. She would yell, 'The pope made him a prince! Showed me the scroll and everything! At the hotel!' Always called me 'Lilit,' too. I would say, 'No, Gran, I'm Lily. Lily, not Lilit. Lily, Alex's daughter. Lily.' Then she would start crying, saying, 'Alek? Please don't tell him, Lilit.' It was so hard to see her like that."

"I'm sorry, mom."

"It's okay, she's in heaven now."

"Aw, Lils, don't cry."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."


	22. Chapter 22

Own nothing. Warning: bad pun ahead.

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Kat nervously looked at the article in her hand, worn from multiple readings. "New Recruits Not Observed _Sharply"_ It was an article about the lack of military examination, allowing women to disguise themselves. The article referred to a Deryn Sharp, Miranda Burns, and Sarah Atkinson, all women who had passed as men during the Great War. Pictures were included, and Ekaterina had recognized Miss Sharp as the blond journalist. She then simply looked through a directory to find her address.

The cab lurched to a stop, and she paid the driver.

"Thank you very much, sir."

"Aye, no problem. Wait a second... you look kinda like that Russian dame, in the newsp-"

"Resemblance," she said quickly, climbing onto the sidewalk. He drove away, looking rather disappointed. Lying was wrong, but it would be catastrophic if the tabloids and Aleksandar discovered her little investigation.

The tenement building was sweltering and grubby. Kat knocked on the door labeled "SHARP." A tall (and quite handsome) man answered the door.

"Can I help you, lass?"

"Well, I... I..."

A woman from inside the apartment yelled, "We are _not_ interested in buying newspapers or magazines, thank you!"

"I'm not a saleswoman. I need to speak to Miss Sharp."

"Come on in, then." Ekaterina followed the man into a dimly lit and cluttered room, where the lady journalist was looking wistfully out a window. "Birdy, visitor for you." She turned, and her face went from pensive to comically surprised.

"It's- you're- how- why?"

"I just wanted to talk."

"Then talk you shall." She patted the window seat, and Kat awkwardly sat. A very pregnant red headed woman entered the room.

"Who's this? One of Deryn's friends?" She had a strong Irish accent. The man's gaze instantly softened, and he quickly pulled out a chair for her.

"You shouldn't be up, you're-"

"Pregnant, not terminally wounded. Nice to meet you, I'm Megan Sharp." She shook hands with Ekaterina.

"So, anyway," said Deryn, "What do you want to know?"

"It's not any of my business, but what was... your relationship with Alek?" Everyone except for Deryn winced.

"Oh, knock it off, you people. And it is most definitely your business. He... was my best friend on the _Leviathan._ Saved each other's lives more times than I can remember. And then I was shot, right in the arm, by a German gyrothopter. It wasn't serious. I guess I was lucky, in a way. The rest is history. Captain let me keep my medal, though. Great man. And Alek, he told me he felt... betrayed. He had trusted me with everything, and I had never told him the truth. I guess I understand why he hates me so much. Miss, he really is a good person."

"Bastard," spat Deryn's brother.

"You seem to hate him too."

She shrugged. "I do. But I guess you love him?"

"I'm not... I think... Well, I..." She trailed off. Did this woman love Alek? "I'm sorry if this is too personal a question... Were you... a couple?"

Deryn looked shocked, then laughed bitterly.

"Miss, you've hit the nail on the head. I loved him the way only a teenager could. But now I can't bear him. And you didn't really answer my question."

"Yes. I love him. But he doesn't, I can tell. He's not unkind. But he doesn't." She realized it was true. Ekaterina loved her fiancée, but he seemed to care for her like a brother would, not a husband. It was the worst feeling to simply be the future wife. This would be her future, the rest of her life, a one sided marriage.

"Are you alright, lass? You look a little faint," said Megan.

"I'm fine..."

And then, to everyone's surprise, Deryn grabbed Kat in an awkward hug.

"You tell him then. Tell him and make him deal with it like a man. Got it?"

"Mm-hm. I will."

"Good."

"I have to go, thanks for talking with me."

"No problem."

"Nice to meet you, dear."

"Aye."

"Bye, I hope I'll see you again."

"R-really?"

"Of course. Bye!"

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Next installation! Will she tell Alek?


	23. Chapter 23

Own nothing. Sorry, I know this is sad, but arranged marriages tend to be.

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Kat knocked on the door of her fiancée's study, her heart racing. How could this be so terrifying? Three words, just spit them out.

Alek opened the door, looking mildly surprised. "Ekaterina? Um, good morning."

"Good morning. May I come in? I'd like to talk."

"Of course." She followed him into the dark wood paneled room, sitting on a deep red couch he gestured to. "Is there a problem? You look very worried."

"I just wanted to say... I- I..." This was so hard, isn't love supposed to be easy and happy? "Ya tebya liubliu!" Oh God, that was definitely not German.

She could practically see the gears turning behind his green eyes. He was very good at languages; he would not forget his Russian classes in a hurry.

"You... love me?" he asked, with a strange expression. Kat buried her face in her hands.

"Y-yes... I just thought I should tell you, as we're to be married and all!" Not that it mattered, in an arranged marriage.

Then Kat did something that shocked herself. She swore.

"I don't want to be an empress! I want to be Kat!"

"I think I understand. Sometimes I still can't believe what has happened to the world, all because of me."

"Please, let's just... run away! Run away and be Kat and Alek!" He shook his head sadly.

"Our countries need us. I have a duty to Austria."

"Alek, do you love me?"

"Yes." He wasn't meeting her eyes.

_That's a lie. You know it's a lie. Oh, but it would be so easy, beautifully easy, to pretend he means it. Truth... It does nothing but hurt me, a million cuts. If only I could live a lie._

It's like the stories of old, the maiden sacrificed for her kingdom. She was Andromeda, and she felt the waves at her feet and manacles at her wrists, chaining her to a rock named Russia. _I know what must be done._ The maiden, young, tragic, and dead. A pagan martyr, almost. For the greater good.

"Oh! I'm so happy, dearest Alek." She kissed his cheek, so he couldn't see the pain in her eyes. He embraced her, stiffly, pretending to be happy, but not as skillfully as her.

In the background, the sea monster roared for blood. Ekaterina faced it with an icy smile, and something close to courage.


	24. Chapter 24

Own nothing. Happy new year. I did research on Auld Lang Syne, by the way. And I just realized- _Volger has a first name._ Weird, right?

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As the clock in the mess hall ticked ever closer to the new year, the jubilant crew of the _Leviathan _began counting down.

"Five!" he cheered. Nineteen fifteen, what would it bring Alek? Would the new pope still consider him to be heir? He'd rather not worry about that right now.

"Four!" she cried, flushed with excitement. Nineteen fifteen, would this be the year Deryn's secret would be discovered? She'd rather not worry about it right now.

"Three," she muttered. Nineteen fifteen, would this be the year of their victory? Had Nora done enough to turn the tide? She'd rather not worry about it right now.

"Two," he told himself. Nineteen fifteen, what challenges would Volger and his young charge face? He'd rather not worry about it right now.

"One!" cried Bovril. Nineteen fifteen, what is it and why is everyone so happy for it? He'd rather not worry about it right now.

Then everyone was shouting and clapping each other on the back.

Dylan and the other crewmembers began to sing a song, and Volger quietly wished Alek a happy new year in German.

Deryn taught Alek the "_proper"_ Scottish version of "Auld Lang Syne," trying to ignore the electricity that shot through her body every time the crowd jostled them together.

And they all realized, they were ready to face the year, whatever challenges it brought. There would surely be many. But now was not the time for worrying.

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Each yank of the strings on the corset feels like a damning law, another chain imprisoning her. The wedding seems so final and absolute. The rest of her life, as a placid wife and eventual mother, begins in mere hours.

Lena, her lady's maid, pulls one last time then fastens the top.

"How do I look?" she gasps.

"Thin," says the stern woman. "Now for the stockings."

Kat carefully pulls the silk stockings up her legs, and ties them up with ribbons. Next for the petticoat, dripping with lace. Lena gingerly pulls it to Kat's hips and ties it. She calls the servant girl to bring the dress.

The girl carefully brings the it, trembling with nerves. It's a beautiful gown of French silk with a long, flowing train that must be carried by some distant cousin.

Lena and the girl gently pull it over her, adjust it and smooth it. The gauzy sleeves delicately rustle as they tie the sash. The hairdresser ties her hair in a sleek and dark knot, while yet another woman rouges Kat's lips and powders her face.

Ekaterina can't help but feel like at any minute, a nun will walk in to say the last rites and escort her to her fate, like Marie Antoinette headed to the guillotine.

She is lead to a carriage, adorned with the Hapsburg crest. Peasants in the street cheer and throw flowers, while others bitterly condemn the opulence. Ekaterina smiles at the children, but it does not quite reach her eyes. After she collects a final bouquet, the carriage lurches it to motion, carrying her to her fate.

The imposing facade of Saint Stephen's Cathedral looms over her, and she shivers. Welcome to the Bastille, Marie.

Ekaterina smiles tremulously at the guards, who salute. The grand wooden doors open and joyous music swells from within. Her husband and her kingdom await her. Responsibility can be a heavy burden, face it with an icy smile.

She does not notice the outdoor cafe down the street, where a Scottish woman in bloomers is blinking back tears.

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	25. Chapter 25

Own nothing. I'm getting sick of people putting Alek down, by the way. He'd never guess "Dylan's" identity in a million years, but neither would any other characters. People accept what's presented to them. On a lighter note, thanks so much for the reviews, they really make my day. The second is inspired by "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler on the Roof. I know it's stupid, but I tear up every time I watch that movie...

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Aleksandar was rooting around in a drawer for something, holding one of his shirts. His wife, indifferent to his search, was sitting on the arm of the couch reading a battered copy of "Aeronautic Diagrams for the Modern Age," (if you considered 1876 the Modern Age). He fervently hoped that she wouldn't notice what he was doing, so, of course, she did.

"What're you looking for?"

He mumbled something about a screwdriver.

"What?" Deryn absentmindedly turned the page.

"Nothing."

Alek found what he was looking for: the little sewing tin his wife loathed. Although he had absolutely no idea how to replace a button, it probably wasn't very complicated. And whenever he asked Deryn to do it, she'd go into a long speech about how was it because she was a woman, would it kill him to learn, and how hard could it be anyway? So he might as well give it a try. He sat down at the table in the kitchen and spread the shirt out like a surgeon examining a wounded soldier. The second button from the bottom had come off when, in a rare moment of frenzy, the elderly Tazza had jumped at him. Doctor Barlow had found the button, luckily. The tin was untidy, and as he reached for a spool of white thread, a needle jabbed the sensitive tip of his index finger.

With the injured finger in his mouth, he assembled the thread, a needle, and the button. That was all he needed, right? Of course. Then came the task of threading the needle. No matter how much Alek squinted, the thread seemed to magically pass the needle instead of going through the eye, and the needle kept piercing his finger. Suddenly, a pair of slender hands reached over his shoulder and plucked the infuriating items from his grasp.

"Deryn!" He never knew how she could sneak up on him like that.

"Whenever you say 'nothing' like that, I know you're up to something. Trying to attach a button, are you?" As she talked, she deftly threaded the needle, measured out a length a thread, and tied a knot at the end, clipping the excess with her rigging knife.

"Thanks," he responded, feeling irrationally annoyed.

"Then you go on the inside of the shirt so the knot doesn't show."

"Yeah." This was very embarrassing. He pierced the shirt where she had pointed to, and slid the button down the thread like a bead.

"Good, now through-"

"The other holes," finished Alek. He would be more irked if her narration wasn't so helpful. Several times, he stitched through the holes of the tiny button, eventually tying a knot on the back and detaching the needle with Deryn's knife. She had been watching his work with a surprising tenderness. Alek held up the shirt triumphantly.

"Good?"

"Passable. But barely," she said, gravely. At the look on his face, she burst into laughter. "Actually, it's excellent."

"For a beginner, of course."

"Of course."

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"Papa." She nudges his arm. "We have to go in now." Her father is staring straight ahead, looking stoic.

Sophie knows him better than that, but she knows he would never be as sentimental as to cry in front of his friends and family. He nods shakily at pushes open the wooden doors.

The music swells and Jonathan is waiting at the altar. They walk gracefully down the aisle, arm in arm. She is reminded of when she was a little girl waltzing with him, standing on top of his feet.

The church is packed with relatives and friends. There's the elderly Doctor Barlow. God, she was at her _parents'_ wedding. Her mother, weeping but beaming at her, looks so old to her right now. Her blond hair is streaked with silver, and the lines on her face reveal her to be a perpetual smiler. Jonathan looks at her with such love it melts her heart. When they reach the front of the church, all goes silent. Her father gently lifts the veil from her face, unsmiling. She knows how hard this is for him. A brief embrace, then he sits down next to his wife.

And Sophie gets married.

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Alek stared at the crowded marketplace in horror. Old women are haggling with the vendors, shouting in many languages. He heard Italian, Romanian, possibly Swedish, and something very close to German but not quite the same. Grubby children played in the street, somehow not trampled upon. And the smell. Fish, vinegar, unwashed bodies, a city in August. He turned to Dylan.

"I hate New York." His friend grinned.

"I love it! Reminds me of home, only everyone spoke English there. Say, let's get some of that! My brother gave me a bit of spending money."

Dylan walked over to a man with dark, curly hair, who was sitting on the steps with with his son. In front of them was a box of colorful, tiny, candies. They debated a bit, but in a seemingly polite way. He then selected a couple of candies, and walked off, waving.

"He was very nice," he said, putting his purchase in his bag. "Not the best at English, but he made up for it in enthusiasm. The son was a bit better then him, told me his name was Murray. Wonder what it was originally."

"What do you mean?" Alek asked as they began to push there way down the street.

"Lot of immigrants change their names, in Scotland too."

"Oh, that's interesting." He noticed that few people seemed to be originally American here. Maybe the wave of immigrants had to do with the war.

"A whole bunch of Russian ladies worked at the mills with my ma."

"Mills?"

"Yeah, lace mills. They have to straighten the threads from the silk worms, keep the machine running smoothly. Barking difficult, though. Hours are terrible and noisy. Ma would come home yelling like a deaf woman. I heard this one person, her hair got tangled in the machine. It didn't stop..." he trailed off, fingering his own short hair for some reason.

"Shall we get some coffee?"Anything to diffuse the awful silence. That woman's head... Eurgh.

"Yes, let's." They found a small cafe. Alek bought himself coffee and Dylan ordered something called a egg cream that he thought sounded interesting when he saw it on the menu. Apparently it had neither eggs or cream in it. His friend looked rather pensive, and he could tell his friend was thinking about his family.

"Dylan, I'm sure your mother is fine."

"I know, She'll just be so angry with me for sneaking to join the Service." His voice had done that strange thing again.

"She ought to be proud. It's an honor to have your son serve his country," he decided. Dylan flinched, just a millimeter, barely perceptibly, at the word "_son."_

"There is something," his friend said shakily, "That I need to tell you."

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Author's note: That last one I may or may not continue, dunno. I did in fact have a great grandfather who immigrated, changed his name, and sold penny candy on the streets with his father. I also had a Scottish ancestor, she worked in lace mills in Dundee and eventually Boston. The silkworms were a Darwinist replacement for the spool machines, that did actually rip scalps off. Also, an egg cream is a delicious combination of seltzer and chocolate milk. I know it sounds gross, but it's really really good.


	26. Chapter 26

Continuation of 25, I own nada. I just like writing about them experiencing the golden age of the Lower East Side... My relatives make some more cameos!

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"Alright," said Alek bemusedly, "What is it?" Dylan looked tense.

"You have to promise me you won't tell anyone."

"Of course."

"I tried to tell you. More than once. I'm so sorry..." He looked away, and Alek told himself that he would forgive Dylan no matter what.

"What is it? I'm not mad, really."

"I'm going to tell you a story," said Dylan, blue eyes glinting with determination. "There was once a man who had a daughter and a son."

Alek never knew that Dylan had a sister, but he supposed he had never asked. Maybe something awful had happened to her, and that was Dylan's secret.

"The man flew hot air balloons, and he would take his children with him. The mother disapproved, because she wanted the lass to learn how to sew and clean so she might one day find a husband. But she didn't want to. She wanted to fly like her brother and her father. And one day, her da went roaring away in a balloon..." He cleared his throat and continued. "Then the girl's family was free to make her a lady. Day in and day out, the girl learned how to stitch a hem, how to make dinner, how to make a baby stop crying. She hated it. She missed flying. And then her brother joined the Air Service and she was alone in the world."

"I'm sure your sister would underst-"

"I'm not barking _finished._ So the girl... She dreamed that she would fly again. And she had a plan to get away. So she talked to her brother when he was on leave. He liked her idea and said he'd help. They found clothes for her. A uniform."

They locked eyes, both hearts thudding loudly. Where was he going with this? Dylan cleared his throat again.

"And she cut her hair short and her brother took her to London. But there was one thing left. Her name, which was Deryn." Dylan sighed and sat up straight.

"She picked a similar one. Three letters in common." He wants Dylan to stop talking. He wants things to be the same way they always were.

"She picked-"

"Dylan." Alek finished hoarsely. He- no, she- nodded, eyes glittering.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. I really did try-!"

"I... This... This is mad! Why didn't she- I mean, you- just tell me?"Alek was struggling. He almost felt dizzy, and at that moment, nothing made sense anymore. It was like being hit over the head with a large and heavy object.

"Lots of reasons..." Her voice was a whisper now. "Dr. Barlow interrupted me in the egg room... And under the lizard room, I thought if you left and you never knew... things could be normal."

Alek's brain was making connections like lightning.

That was why she didn't like Lilit at first, and why she had carefully asked if Alek had any feelings toward the beautiful girl.  
That was why she was so horrified when Lilit kissed her.  
That was why she hadn't bathed when they were at the castle.  
That was why she blushed vaguely when Alek had embraced her.  
That was why Bovril called her "_Mister_ Sharp."  
That was why she always changed in private.  
That was why she had such a delicate face.  
That was why her voice was inconsistent.  
That was why she was so excellent at sewing.  
That was why Volger saw something different when Deryn fenced.  
That was why she was so slender.  
That was why she was so angry when he had called women mad.  
That was why she couldn't be hung for treason.

It all made sense... It was paralyzing... This was all too much. In one day, he had learned an incredible secret. One too many.

"I'm sorry," he said, standing up. "I need to think for a while." It was true. He couldn't feel anger or sadness at the moment. Just confusion.

New York and its tapestry of stories. The Italian and Irish gangs were fighting again. Someone got married and someone got divorced. A soldier came back. Another one didn't. A baby was born and an old man died. A matchmaker made matches. A man made it through Ellis Island, but his son was sent back. A little boy fed pigeons. A teenager was working in a sweatshop, dreaming about the day she would send for her family in Poland. Murray, the candyman's son, glanced at a girl, Betty. An Italian grandmother led the crusade for scrap metal. A handsome-ish boy was running through the labyrinth of streets, muttering to himself in German about a girl with two names. A girl in trousers slumped over the cheap table of a cafe, biting her lip. Funny, how you can be so alone even when you're surrounded by people.


	27. Chapter 27

Own nothing. A TRIO DEDICATED TO DARWIN! Apparently Doctor Barlow's real name was Emma Nora. She also bred a type of columbine and led a Girl Guide group! She had several children and would have had been married with children during the book. In fact, she would have had a son during Leviathan. Even in the book, she has a married surname. Also, does anyone have anything they would like to see written? And Leviathan South Pacific- yes or no?

.

.

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"Right," began Dylan, sitting down next to Alek in his room. "You are finally learning Darwinist science."

"Must I?"

"Well, you _love_ the ship, don't you?" he continued with a touch of annoyance. "Right. So, Darwin's theory of natural selection by means of evolution."

"What are you, a school teacher?" Alek rolled his eyes, and Dylan crossed his arms.

"It's bloody _interesting,_ or at least it will be if you let me continue. I'll start with an example. What animal do you like? And not a fabricated beastie."

"An animal?" For a second, he almost blurted, "Stormwalker!" "A cat, I guess."

"How original. Anyway, so a cat has babies. A litter, so there are more chances of survival. That's _overproduction._ There are big ones, small ones, different colors, aye?" He rapidly sketched several kittens, all slightly varied. "That's _variation._"

"Makes sense," agreed Alek.

"So which ones survive?"

"The larger and stronger ones." Dylan nodded, and crossed off all but one kitten. "You can't just _cross them out_ like that."

"It's nature! Survival of the fittest. This is _competition_." He drew the remaining kitten as an adult cat.

"I'll say."

"Enough out of you. So this one has kittens with another strong survivor cat. _Reproduction. _And all the cats of that litter are big and strong, like their parents."

"That's it?" Looking a the kittens, it didn't seem particularly devilish or even illogical.

"That's it."

"And the theory with the apes and humans?" He was still uneasy about that, but Dylan grinned.

"Have you not seen a dinosaur fossil?"

"At a museum, once. I was quite young." In fact, Alek had been convinced it was a dragon skeleton at the time. "But what does that have to do with evolution? The dinosaurs are long dead."

"Not quite. They look a bit like birds, don't they?"

.

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"Mr. Sharp?" she asked the boy as he strode past her door.

"Aye?"

"Send this letter for me."

"Alright. Who's it for?"

"Can you not read?" she sighed. Sharp looked at the envelope and blinked.

"You're sending a document to yourself? But why would you-"

"Look _closer._"

"Doctor _T._ Barlow. But who..." It dawned on him. "You're _married?"_

"With children."

"But you haven't ever mentioned it!"

"No one ever asked." Silly, how boys never consider polite questions about family.

"Oh, well... Congratulations!" he blurted, looking astounded. Did she really seem like such a spinster?

"Thank you," Nora said icily. "Now the letter. _Mail it, _will you?"

.

.

.

She dodged hurtful comments about him every day. Liar. Charlatan. Disgraceful. Godless. Insane. Disturbed. Damned. Wicked. Sinful.

But to her, he would always be Grandfather.

You wouldn't believe the kinds of things they said about his granddaughter. Shameful. Impudent. Unfeminine. Embarrassing. Ungrateful.

But to him, she would always be Nora.


	28. Chapter 28

Hi! I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. First everyone had the flu, then we went on vacation, then our computer entered a coma and we may take it off life support. This is from my friend's laptop. I've been thinking about Black Swan, which I really want to see. Then I heard someone mention a cross-dressing lady sent to an asylum. That got me a-wonderin' about Deryn going insane. This is really dark, but I felt I've written too much fluff.

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She's not losing it. She's made of sterner stuff than that. Keep your head held high, stay away from the other loonies, and act as normal as possible. No, Deryn Sharp would not go mad.

Five months later, she is not so sure. Deryn can't sleep anymore, because her dreams are filled with gore and blood and various war horrors. Someone mentions her screaming in her sleep, which leads to medication. The pills make her feel numb all over, but her dreams are now nothing but black. To make she she is still alive, still feeling, still sane, she digs her nails into her palms until she leaves red cresents of blood. Soon, however, that is not enough for her. She takes to playing with flame, scalding her fingertips until they take the candle out of her room. This isn't a sign of madness, surely. It's just like pinching yourself to stay awake. Fire, it killed her father, it killed the Leviathan, it killed Alek. She knows she must master it.

A little seed of doubt is planted in her mind. What if she is mad? No, no, of course not. It's like when she didn't speak for a month when her da died. A normal reaction to tragedy, no matter what the aunts had told her. For the next week, she doesn't hurt herself at all, and she hides her medicine under the mattress. Deryn would rather be tortured by nightmares than morph into something she's not.

Oh, and tortured she is. Always, always, Alek haunts her dreams. He is the doctor who institutionalized her. He is her father, pushing her out of the blazing balloon. He is simply a man on the street, but with blood trickling down his lovely face. In one dream, Deryn tears his heart out simply because his gaze is too hurtful. She wakes up shivering, and she holds up her hands and squints at them in the darkness. The more she looks, the more convinced she is that they are covered in blood. At first she thinks this doesn't necessarily make her mad, but then she washed her hands four times, feeling like her fellow Scotswoman Lady Macbeth.

What if she will be in this hell for the rest of her life? It's too awful to even consider. Maybe they will let her out if she behaves as normal as possible. She even asks the maid if she can wear a corset. The answer is no, as corset reinforcements have been used as weapons in the past.

Three years. Three bloody years of perfection, of acing examinations, of obedience, and saneness. They have to let her out. They must, because if they don't, she kill herself before she goes mad. A shard of mirror, perhaps, or the peaceful death of an overdose. But she will never, ever, let herself go mad.

That night, she wakes herself up with her own screams. Alek. Why is he not coming to her rescue? Where is he? What happened?


End file.
